


testing rough waters

by shortitude



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Daisy gets cuddled a LOT in this one, Emotional Sex, F/M, Future Fic, Handwaved canon, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of vanilla as far as the actual sex goes, Light BDSM, Phil is a dom but only until Daisy feels better tbh, Porn, Skye | Daisy Johnson Feels, Vaginal Fingering, and everything that it implied for Daisy, references to the Hive thing, which i feel is really important, working out feelings through (some failed) sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New at this thing she has with Coulson, Daisy knows she wants more. Her body and her mind seem to have other plans. (How Daisy Johnson got her mojo back.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	testing rough waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



> I blame Vanessa, because she encouraged me to write this? If it feels rushed, it's because there's only so much I can do with a roadtrip right around the corner. I haven't had the time to beta this, but I hope the raw version of it feels right anyway. I've had this idea in my mind for a while - scenario: Daisy gets some form of synaesthesia that makes her shake things when she's really turned on, and bondage somehow plays a part in it. Then the Hive thing happened and, although I've yet to watch it, I've read so many great fics dealing with the aftermath of that lately that I felt like I really had to include remnants of it. Future-fic or no future-fic.

The first time it happens is the first time _it_ happens, and Daisy blames it on excitement and that nagging feeling of sheer surprise. They’re kissing, hungry mouths and hungry hands, want and longing all coming to a halt in the middle of his office when an argument (she can’t even recall _what_ it was right now) brings all the feelings back to the surface from where she’d carefully shoved them down.

His lips are smooth, but his face has that faint stubble of a man too busy to take the time to shave properly with just one hand under his complete control. He licks into her mouth only after she opens her lips under his, only after she lets him know that he _can_ ; with his hand cradling the back of her head, so gentle that it’s clear that it’s her _choice_ to lean into it. He gives her an opening, a way out, even though she can taste the insane amount of lust in the vibrations of his breath, drowned into her mouth.

She wrinkles his shirt from how she grabs onto the front and back of it, and if she weren’t so invested in kissing him – deep, slow, and holy hell, that’s dirty, Phil – she’d feel bad about how she clings. But she doesn’t feel bad, for a change; she doesn’t feel bad for wanting, not when he reciprocates with each lick of his tongue and circle that his thumb draws under her hairline.

She’s not sure what brings it up, but it happens out of the blue.

She is breathing between pauses in their kisses, soft pants and soft gasps, aware that he’s enveloping her in his arms so tenderly because she’s trembling. But suddenly, she’s not the only one who’s trembling. There’s a paperweight – a cute one, shaped like Captain America and the Falcon, Daisy’d been so thrilled to find it in the shop – that suddenly just falls to the ground with a loud sound, and the pull apart. The desk and chairs in the office are still faintly rattling, until she takes fine long, deep breaths, with her eyes wide and focused on his face.

She expects some sort of _we shouldn’t_ , because why would he want to continue if she continues to be a danger to him, to the team, to the Playground –

His thumb brushes just under her eyes, pulling her out of that reverie, and she meets his understanding gaze with surprise. When she opens her mouth, it’s to apologize for making things quake because his kissing game is just too on point, but he cuts her off with his thumb pressed to the center of her lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, his blue eyes crinkled in faint amusement. He’s getting an ego-trip out of it, that’s good. With a bit of hesitation, he leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead; only one chair shakes, and Daisy – she shivers. “We’ll take it slow.”

She doesn’t mention how much it means to her that he isn’t afraid, he isn’t pulling back now just because it’s not perfect, he still wants this, wants to try this. He knows. 

*

The second time it happens, it’s because he slides his hand slowly up under her shirt, and her Hula girl falls off her nightstand with a telling _tack-tack-tack_. It doesn’t break, thankfully, because Phil reacts quickly and catches it with deadly precise reflexes. Half her brain goes _wow_ , while the other one takes over her mouth and goes “Seriously? I’d like to get laid at one point,” at her own body. 

She doesn’t get it, this sudden sensitivity to touch, to excitement and arousal. It wasn’t like this with Lincoln, and there was plenty of it with Lincoln, during the days when that was literally all that kept them together. Is it because it’s special with Phil? Is it because he’s special to her? Is it the alien blood running through their veins, or the fact that she’s been scraped raw by the intrusion of that murder alien? It’s been so long since she shook Hive down to its atoms, yet her mind still remembers, perhaps always will. 

_She_ doesn’t get it, but Coulson seems to understand perfectly, and extracts his hands to cup her cheek with one and her shoulder with the other. In her very small bunk bed, he’s still lying on top of her and weighing her down, but it’s less contact than before, and her heart settles. 

“You’re bottling it up,” he says, and kisses her cheek, making Daisy feel like it’s nothing to apologize for, before he lies down beside her. 

Yeah, she’s bottling a lot of stuff up. 

She rolls on her side, facing him, eyebrows pinched in concern, because you see, she does want him a lot, in every way, and the fact that her powers keep awakening when he kisses her feels like a betrayal on their part. Like they’re trying to sully a very beautiful moment. (She hasn’t used her gifts since… Yeah.) 

“So what do we do? Take it slow?” she asks, hopeful but hesitant. 

“I have an idea.” 

*

He has a very good idea. 

The moment he offers it, puts the thought out there between then, says _I could tie you up_ , something clicks and feels _right_. She doesn’t have to explain to him why it feels like the right choice, because he seems to know. But she reasons with herself why, the night when he ties her arms very loosely above her head. 

When she wasn’t herself, she did things with her powers that made her resent herself for having them again. Ever since she broke free of Hive’s control, and finished the beast, she’s bottled her gifts up. It’s hypocrisy on her part, because she still encourages Yo-Yo and Joey to keep exploring their gifts, but she is an Agent as well so she can fight without resorting to her tremors. It’s not that she doesn’t trust herself -- okay, it’s that she doesn’t trust herself anymore. Amidst all that, she ends up kissing Coulson in his office, and it’s the one good thing in a couple of really bad months, and it feels extraordinary and safe, so of course her survival instincts kick in because it’s like she can’t shake off the feeling of not deserving it. 

When he says he’ll tie her up, he doesn’t mention anything else, but she would trust him with this and more, so she jumps at the suggestion. 

The first time, they’re testing the waters. He leaves her in her clothes, and keeps the knots loose, and they even negotiate safewords and boundaries. He touches her always above her clothes, and never takes his gaze off her, and she lasts without making anything rattle for all of half an hour. But as soon as arousal swirls deep and low in her belly, a hot pool of lust, she sees one framed picture shake and gasps out the safeword. 

It means everything that he stops just then, even if he trusts her not to harm him. It means everything that he stops when she needs him to, and holds her until she stops shivering. 

*

The second time, the knots are tighter, and her shirt is off, because he suggests they try skin on skin now. Her bra does nothing to hide the way her nipples peak when he runs his open palm up over her ribs. His blue eyes look darker, and she gets waves of his vibrations, a steady thrum of his arousal; instead of jerking away, she opens herself up to it, and lets Coulson invade her senses. Her breath catches - it’s glorious, and intense, though it doesn’t feel overbearing. She gasps quietly, and he picks this moment to still his hand on her hip very lightly, and kiss her. 

She’s breathless when he pulls away, eyes wide open. She’s also very fucking wet, but she doesn’t have to spell it out for him. 

He kisses her neck, her collarbone, and just above the waistband of her pants. 

She wants. 

Something falls off the desk - a water bottle. They stop. 

*

“You know you deserve good things,” he tells her the next morning, so early that she’s barely awake, but aware enough to feel his hesitation. 

She makes a small sound, and rolls over to press herself against him, wrap her arms around his waist and hide her face against his shirt. He’s going to grow tired of all this need to pussyfoot around her. 

“Cheesy,” she deflects. 

“No - Daisy. Look at me,” he asks, and she does. “You deserve good things. You deserve to feel good, you deserve being made to feel good.” He explains it like he’d explain it to a child, but it sinks in finally. 

Maybe she does deserve them. 

“Kiss me?” 

He does. 

*

The Playground is still quiet and asleep, running on the night shift crew, when it finally happens. He kisses her, and she sighs into it, glad, and slowly waking up to everything. To the new day, the new beginning, and this new feeling of being valued and loved. Because he does, even if he hasn’t said it yet. She knows. 

They end up making out, no more hesitation. She pushes him onto his back and climbs into his lap, and he sits up to help her out of her bra and the sleeping shirt she borrowed from him. (Off him, actually.) She lifts her hips to let him shift backwards until he’s leaning against the headboard of his bed, and straddles him again, feeling him hard against her. She shivers - nothing else does. 

“You deserve this,” he says, anyway, because he wants her to know. He runs his hands down her arms, pushing them behind her back, and makes her cross one over the other. His squeeze to her forearms means _keep them here_. 

So she does. Sits down against his covered erection, and watches him with rapid, shallow breaths, how he traces his fingertips down her skin. Over her hardened nipples, along the curves of her breasts, down her stomach. Sweeping carefully over her scars, then running slowly along the waistband of her underwear. She digs her fingers into her forearms and doesn’t even think to stop grinding against him. 

He runs his nails down the tops of her thighs, making her suck a loud breath in, and shiver. Nothing else does. She just wants, but she’s not scared. She just wants, she just wants, and she - 

“Love you,” she breathes out. He pulls her in for a hard, long kiss, and nods against her lips. She never lets her arms go, not even when he pushes his hand inside her underwear, finds her slick and hot; not when he pushes one finger inside her, pulls it out and swirls her wetness against her clit then above it. Not when she grunts into the kiss as her muscles contract, not when he cups the back of her head with his free hand, and rubs her in quick circles. 

She lets go when he says, “Let go,” against her lips. She brings her arms around to wrap them around his shoulders and holds onto him tight while she comes, quietly and intense. 

It’s relief that makes her laugh afterwards, relief that she’s not incapable of this anymore, relief that nothing broke except the grip of her self-flagellation. She laughs, and nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder, and stops shivering to the soothing touch of his hands up and down her back. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs into her hair, and she nods quietly against his shoulder because she knows. She felt it. 

*

It’s not instantly perfect right after that morning. But it’s a start. 

The best thing about it is the fact that neither Coulson nor her are too keen on giving up trying. And testing the waters proves to be the most wonderful adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Does this fic need more tags?


End file.
